


Jealousy

by ItsJaya



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Damian Wayne-centric, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jealousy, Spoiler Alert: he gets one, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:48:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22842781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsJaya/pseuds/ItsJaya
Summary: Damian doesn't exactly like Helena Wayne.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne, Talia al Ghul & Damian Wayne
Comments: 6
Kudos: 170





	Jealousy

Damian supposes a new life being introduced to the family should bring great joy and happiness, but he feels nothing but lava churning in his belly. Watching his father walk around, bumping his half, baby sister up and down has him boiling, his veins pulsing, and his throat tight. He breathes in and out as his father coos sweet nothings against the baby’s tiny ear. 

He’s jealous, he tells himself, shame causing his face to heat up with such intensity, he fears he’s radiating heat waves. He hates that he feels ten again when here he is, a few years away from adulthood. 

Fifteen and already replaced. He supposes this is how Timothy felt. When news of the child’s birth had first been announced, Timothy had given him a sharp smile and said, “Now we have another blood child.” A cheap, yet impactful shot. He wasn’t going to show that, of course. He had replied with a sarcastic, “oh no, the horror.” 

Todd had been close by and laughed aloud. “Imagine if she has the same attitude as you. Now that’ll be horrifying.”

“God save the weak,” Timothy had quipped back, causing both of them to chuckle. 

“Stop bothering him,” Richard had said, giving Damian a cautious glance. 

He hadn’t thought much about the then-pregnant Selena afterwards. Gotham had seemed to know his father was approaching happier times for she spit out as many low-lives and criminals as she could, keeping them all busy, grouchy, and exhausted. Selena kept to herself during the day- at night, after Father would return for patrol, he’d sometimes see the two talking by the fireplace, a series of snacks in front of them.

Now, Damian hears the baby wail and watches as Selina, who he assumes had gone to fetch the bottle she had walked in with, rushes to his father’s side, hushing the baby with furrowed eyebrows and a tight expression. The baby is ill. That much is obvious. Not only was the child born much earlier than expected and spent much too much time in the hospital, but it came home to spread its negativity to the rest of the family.

Stephanie now dwelled around the manor regularly, offering help so often Damian mimics a gagging expression just thinking about it. The first time she had held it, Timothy had been rubbing her back soothingly as she held back tears, her lower lip trembling. He hopes she cries at night, thinking about the child she left. He hopes she cries, and cries, and realizes that she should’ve never abandoned a part of her. He hopes she never tries to contact it. Never tells it who she is or tries to explain herself.

He hopes that if his mother has any tears that she can possibly shed, they fall only because of him. 

“Damian, pass me that blanket,” Selina calls out, and he reluctantly does so, observing as his father hands her the baby and places the blanket gently over them, his arms resting onSelina’s shoulders lovingly. He watches as his father’s eyes meet Selina’s and they stare at each other as if they were mentally linked. “You patrolling tonight?” she asks aloud. He’s not sure if the inquiry is directed at him or his father. 

“Yes,” he replies at the same time Father says, “We shouldn’t be out too long.” Damian wants to roll his eyes- what his father meant was: I’ll be home soon. He leaves the room shortly after, no longer feeling welcomed in the room. He imagines them, huddling close to one another, their offspring protected between them. 

He imagines himself, floating in artificial nutrition. Around him, there are no loving stares- no, there are sullen eyes reporting any little change. Sharp eyes awaiting failure. Stoic ones hoping for victory and world domination. He is born and he is not cradled in loving arms. He is lifted high in the sky for his servants to witness him, naked, raw, loveless, powerful. 

His own father, unaware of his existence, busy with his own chosen ones. And when aware, distraught, disgusted and violated. And when he finally comes to accept him, he is distracted, busy with his own sorrows.

And his son- He, Damian, Talia’s child- no, he’s no longer a child, he reminds himself.

How he wishes to be one.

How he wishes to imagine himself cocooned between a smiling father and ever-loving mother.

Patrol helps, he tells himself, inhaling Gotham’s scent, allowing her to cool the burn he feels boiling in his body. He explains, to no one in particular but his conscious, that he and father communicate in patrol. They help each other. They save others together. They give each other reassuring glances. They have physical contact- a reassuring hand on his shoulder, their gloved fingertips grazing one another whilst exchanging an object, a sudden tug away from danger’s glistening fangs. 

It is not comforting, his conscious replies. No. No. He wants more. It makes him greedy. He wants it all.

His tutor once explained the concept of greed. How it is considered a sin to many, yet how history proved that those ambitious enough could attain powers that could topple kings off their established pulpits and the strongest warriors cower in fear. 

Wanting it all isn’t bad, he wants to scream as he punches a thug and his father calls out his “name” in a reprimanding matter. He stares as his victim falls on the floor, a crimson creek making its way down his face, his eyes shutting close and his body falling unconscious. He shrugs towards his father, assuring himself that he’ll get admonished for this. 

“You’re hurt,” Father says, and he looks to the side. Indeed there is quite a tear in his sleeve- long and not deep at all. Blood has notably begun to clump around the sides. He swallows. He hadn’t even felt that. Distracted- that’s what he is. They return to their cave after, and Father gestures towards the medbay that Pennyworth used to await in for them.

He has a joke in his mind. A “tis but a flesh wound” type of reply that would make Timothy roll his eyes and Richard affectionately grab his wrist and tend the wound for him. “I will,” he chooses to reply. He looks at the bruise blooming by his father’s lip and says, “Best rub some ice against that.”

“I’m going to have to use foundation tomorrow for sure,” his father says, his lips curling up slightly. After the baby, Father smiles more. His footsteps aren’t heavy with grief and dread. They are light and melodic. His fighting is smoother. The baby has given him a purpose that none of them have been able to offer since Alfred’s death. 

The death he caused. His eyes burn. 

“You’re coming, right?” his father interrupts his mini self-pity party. 

“Is it a good idea to take her out when she’s been ill?” he inquires. 

“I asked Selina,” his father sits on his throne, rolling his head from side to side before beginning to type out reports for the night. “She said she’ll be fine.” A pregnant pause. They had not spoken about the baby together much since she was born. Upon arriving home, each of the siblings had taken a turn holding her. Father himself had personally placed the baby in his arms, gesturing how to hold her securely as if Damian hadn’t carried a baby before. “She’s got a weaker immune system,” he finally says, now turning to look at his son. 

“That much was notable,” Damian wants him to face the screen once more. He doesn’t want to see the concern in his father’s eyes. “Best not to risk it. It’ll be windy tomorrow. Reschedule it.” 

“I might.” And why is he such a bitter person? Why instead of feeling happy that his father took his counsel he now fumes over the fact that his father cared enough to cancel a function he’d been planning for months for the piece of flesh that was currently settled in a warm room, surrounded by everything he thought he didn’t want? “You’ll come.” It’s a question disguised as a statement. His father wants reassurance. Who is he to deny the man? 

“I will,” he hears himself say. He wants this conversation to continue, but he doesn’t know how to make it longer. Something mundane like, “What will you wear tomorrow, Father?” A stupid question. He knows the answer. A black suit. It doesn’t matter which brand it is, all bloody black suits look the same unless there’s a designer’s notable touch to it. Often times, he’s noticed men dress to these parys like they do to funerals. He himself is guilty of simply buttoning up a balck suit for formal events. 

He could also make a comment about tonight’s patrol. Something like, “I’m sorry I punched that guy too hard. I know we needed him conscious so we could tie him upside down and carve out information from him, but I’ve been annoyed and punching things helps.” He scoffs, slightly. A definite no. 

“You know it doesn’t make a difference between us,” Father says, and he swallows, hoping and begging in his mind that his father won’t continue. “Helena, I mean. She needs more care, but that doesn’t mean I won’t care for the rest of you any less.”

He answers without thinking, “If you’d care any less for me then I’d be a complete stranger in this house.” His father furrows his eyebrows, clearly displeased by his answer. 

“You kn-”

“I apologize. That was out of line.” He hopes he doesn’t sound genuine. He hopes Father can see what he feels. He hopes he can see straight through his eyes and witness his insides burning in unexplainable hurt and fury. 

“Was it?” Father asks, and Damian wants to say no. Wants to ask how he could just pull away from him after Alfred’s death, leaving him to cope with it on his own? How could he just go on with his life after a period of grief and enjoy tiny moments with Selina without thinking of including him in some of them? He wants to pour his insides out right then and there. Instead he manages to raise an eyebrow arrogantly, and confidently declares, “You tell me, Father.”

“Go clean that, Damian,” his father says after a sigh and turning away, “And stop picking at it.”

No, he has more to say. No, he has nothing left to say.

“I used to be strong,” he hears himself. Father now stands and turns to look at him properly for the first time tonight. “Strong in everything. I don’t know why I feel like this.”

“It’s not because of her, Damian,” a resting hand on his shoulder, a supposedly calming gesture. 

“I know, but I hate it.”

“You don’t hate her,” he pulls him into an awkward hug. Odd how physical Father’s been since the baby was born.

“I never said ‘her.’ I said it. I hate how easy I feel and how you all are treating me like a jealous younger brother.” His father hums and Damian feels the vibration of the action trembling throughout his body. “I’m not jealous,” he needs to justify this all. This sudden break in his character. He needs to fit back into his mold. “I just-”

“It’s okay,” he rubs his back, “You don’t need to explain this at all.”

And Damian knows he’ll be up all night, extracting as many reasons as he can for this and blaming his mother, and grandfather, and Richard, and Timothy, and Stephanie and anyone else he can possibly blame for the way he is right now, but Father will most definitely be excused from that list just cause of this. Whatever this is- he’ll figure it out later. 

**Author's Note:**

> I might write more for this one. Maybe include chapters explaining how his relationship with Helena changes as they both grow older. 
> 
> I wanted to add more Richard in this, but at the same time, in my mind, he has barely gotten his memories back when Helena is born. He is trying to rebuild his relationship with the family he so strongly denied for quite a while. I imagine that although Damian and him will be back to normal in no time, Damian will try to keep a distance for a while. He's suffered the loss of his team, his brother, Alfred right in front of his eyes- he's been blamed by the family (How dare you, Jason!) and left to comfort himself (Damn you, Bruce!)
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
